


Dice Heart

by Nabé (naberriel)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Morality, Dungeons & Dragons References, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Enemies, Hostage Situations, Humor, Identity Porn, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, News Media, Non-Chronological, Polyamorous Character, Recreational Drug Use, Sassy, Secret Identity, Self-Insert, Snark, Social Media, Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naberriel/pseuds/Nab%C3%A9
Summary: "Tone down that southern drawl, Dante," she advised, "Remember, you're a bland rich, white man in America. Get rid of that sicilian spiciness. Forget that you're a southern belle." She pointed her finger at me. "Dante Morgan, CEO of Haven Industries. Short-term millionaire and aspiring tax-evader."I decided then and there to never tell her about my grand plans to become the League's antagonist and love interest. Go big or go home, and in this case, my young ward was a merciless landlord.OR: How a suave tsundere—yes, they exist—decides to stop panicking about being a Justice League-level villain and enjoy the attention.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

** Timeline I  **

_"L-look, I don't know how. I don't know why. Hell, I don't know when or where, but one second I'm in front of the stove, cooking myself some breakfast and the next- I'm in a forest, okay? Dressed in leathers and- I don't know, medieval clothes? Yeah, I had a bow too-"_

Click.

_"Patient claims to have been transported to a desert, in front of what looked to be a Mayan temple. A giant winged cat with a woman's head promised to give her the key to open the door, but only if she could solve a riddle. It appears that the patient has met a sphinx. A greek one at that, since egyptian sphinxes are typically shown as a man-"_

Click.

_"-a man, dressed in a white suit that must've cost him a year of my salary! H-he was wearing a venetian mask—absolutely gorgeous! It was gold and blue and so glittery. Also creepy, kind of, because the lips didn't move along when he spoke. Though, I suppose that was the goal…"_

Batman sat in his chair, reading the reports and testimonials on the massive screens of his workplace. He was in his batsuit, but had left the cowl off, enjoying the cool breeze of the batcave ruffling his hair. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he drafted a file for this new phenomenon, determined to get this done before Jason came home from school.

He wasn't normally awake this early in the day, but he'd just gotten back from a patrol to the news that Red Rocket number seven had been a Manhunter in disguise, and had to check on the League's security systems to be sure that everything was in order.

He'd also gotten a few calls from Morgan. The man hadn't been pleased. At all.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said, appearing at his side and setting a tray of food on the desk. "You've been awake and running on fumes for approximately twenty-five hours. I recommend a good night's rest." Bruce's hands paused, hovering over the keyboard as stabs of shame and pain and 'my fault, my fault, I should've been there. I should've caught him faster-' drove into his heart and mind. He grunted.

"Master Bruce, I want to remind you that Lady Gordon's... condition is not a failing of yours. The Joker-" Bruce flinched. Alfred, bless his soul, was undeterred and continued on. "-is a macabre and unpredictable creature. His actions are not a reflection of you. The Gordons are on their way to recovery. That is more than what the majority of his victims tend to get." Alfred put his hand on his shoulder. Bruce clenched his fist, but released it along with an exhausted sigh. He took his gloves off and tried to rub the tiredness from his face. "I-I just-"

The loud bang of the door that led to the Manor being thrown open and smacking against the wall cut him off, quickly followed by an even louder, "BRUCE!"

Both Alfred and him fell silent, listening to the enthusiastic thumping of teenage feet running down the stairs. Bruce could feel his lips twitching upwards, tiredness retreating to the corners of his mind.

They didn't have to wait long before an excited Jason came barrelling around the T-rex to a stop next to his chair. The boy hadn't bothered to change from his school uniform, the only thing missing being the tie. Bruce imagined him jumping out of Mr. Bahain's car—his official chauffeur—and taking off running with a last goodbye to the bemused man.  
  
"Bruce Robert Wayne," Jason declared, "I've come to collect what I'm owed."  
  
Alfred coughed politely.  
  
"Hey, Alfie!" Jason said brightly, breaking role for a second to shoot his second favorite person a wide grin.  
  
Alfred nodded, not breaking face, "Good evening, Master Jason."  
  
Bruce wasn't fooled. He could see the man holding back a smile.  
  
The boy quickly resumed his serious expression. "You promised," he told Bruce loftily.  
  
Bruce nodded seriously. "I did, but on the condition that-"  
  
Jason slammed a report onto the desk, missing the tray by a scant inch and puffed up his chest with a triumphant look. "I aced my tests! All of them!"  
  
Bruce read the report. "Indeed, you did." He pulled the teenager in an one-armed hug. "I'm proud of you, chum."  
  
Jason flushed up to his ears.  
  
"I believe congratulations are in order, Master Jason," said Alfred. "And as agreed, I will cook your favorite food."  
  
"Chili dogs?" Jason's teal eyes widened.  
  
Alfred's moustache twitched from a barely suppressed frown. "Chili dogs."  
  
Hm. Looked like Alfred was slowly cutting back on the strict diet they'd put Jason on. Two and half years ago, the boy had been scarily underfed, only skin and bones, and they had put a healthy food plan together and rigorously followed it since. Greasy food wasn't forbidden—Batman occasionally bought it as a midnight snack during their joint patrols—but Alfred loathed cooking it, preferring to experiment with different healthy dishes.  
  
"What about dessert?" Jason looked hopeful. "With neapolitan icecream?"  
  
"If that is your wish, Master Jason, it shall be done."  
  
"YES!" Jason threw his arms in the air, pushing away from Bruce and doing a victory dance. "You're the best, Alfie!"  
  
Alfred sent Bruce an amused glance before turning back to go upstairs. Bruce picked a toast from his plate and started munching on it.  
  
Jason calmed down and turned to the monitor. "Is this our case?" He leaned his full weight against Bruce to make it harder for him to eat.

Bruce nodded, swallowing his food before speaking, lest Alfred materialized out of thin air to scold him. "Outside of Gotham, as I promised."  
  
Jason snorted. "When you say outside of Gotham, I thought you meant Bludhaven or, I don't know, Metropolis. Turns out outside with you means the rest of the world!" But he seemed happy about that. "This case's been happening on a world-wide scale, right?"  
  
"Four continents." Bruce pulled the file he'd been working on. He had to use one hand, since Jason seemed determined to squish his left side. It was a standard file, if incomplete,with large chunks of important information still missing, like name, age and abilities.  
  
"Oh, it's Dice!" Exclaimed Jason, straightening and thereby freeing Bruce's poor arm.  
  
He rubbed his shoulders, grimacing at the pins and needles. "Dice?"  
  
"It's what people at the Academy are calling the new guy, along with the internet. You didn't look at the forums?" Opening a new tab, Jason pulled up _Supernatural_ , a popular forum known for discussing sightings of, well, supernatural elements. Bruce himself had scrolled through it to learn about the Rogue Gallery and adversaries of the League.  
  
Bruce said, "Haven't finished with the official reports and testimonials yet."  
  
It got him an understanding nod. "I can finish them, if you wanna?  
  
"Appreciated, chum." He leaned back in his seat. "Now let's hear what you know  
  
"Well, Dice—actually, he calls himself Apollinaire but apparently it's a bitch to spell and remember so everyone calls him Dice."  
  
Bruce grumbled a token, "Language, Jay." But his adopted son blithely continued on. "Because he's got this dice, ya know? A polyhedral blue dice with gold scribbles. He uses it to make decisions."  
  
"Like Two-Face?"  
  
Jason shrugged. "Maybe? Two-Face never gives his penny to his, err, victims. Dice does, sometimes. He transports them to a weird location and makes them go on an adventure. It's all very Tolkien-esque." He clicked on 'Gallery' and it took them to a page full of drawings of a man in a white suit and venetian mask. There were also pictures of the dice in question.  
  
Jason frowned thoughtfully. "No killings. No torture. No thievery. He teleports them from wherever they were, forces them on a quest—sometimes on their own, other times with a party of similarly stranded strangers—and when they're done he returns them to the exact same place. It's as if nothing happened."  
  
Bruce nodded. "There is an interval window of two seconds, even though their time in the other world could span between a day and six months."  
  
"You think he's messing with space-time?" Asked Jason. "The locations look like subspace dimensional pockets, like where the Green Lanterns store their, err, lanterns. Or might be that he's transporting them to another world like Earth."  
  
"There's not enough data to be sure yet. But if I had to make a guess then no. This seems more… related to magic, mystical even," said Bruce and drank his coffee.  
  
"What's his deal, anyway?" Jason crossed his arms. "Hassle random people all over the world? Okay. Lots of crazies with nothing better to do with their time do that. But they usually gain something from it. Money, sadistic pleasure, knowledge, power, … This guy asks for nothing. He doesn't harm anyone. He doesn't steal anything. What does he want?"  
  
"What makes you think he wants something?" Asked Bruce. He knew most of this information, really. His mind had always been faster than his fingers. But he liked encouraging his students to puzzle the pieces together.

Jason rolled with his eyes. "Everyone wants something, B. Finding out what he wants will lead us to him." He grinned. "Or _him_ to _us_."  
  
Bruce smiled.


	2. Morgan

**Timeline IV**  
  
It was your cliché interrogation room at the police station. One-way mirror, empty room save for a table and two plastic chairs. The psychologist who'd introduced himself as Dr. Marten put a recorder in the middle and pressed play.  
  
“Mr. Morgan?” The man didn’t wait for an answer. “This is how this evaluation is going to go. I’ll say a word, and you’ll tell me the first thing that comes to mind.”  
  
"Understood," I said, making myself comfortable in the plastic chair and preparing to lie my way through this cham of an interview. I wouldn't even need my dice for this.  
  
"Name," Dr. Martens began. He had a clipboard and a ballpoint pen with him.  
  
"Dante Morgan."  
  
"Age."  
  
 _Lie_. "Thirty."  
  
"Color."  
  
 _Lie_. "Gold."  
  
"Family."  
  
 _Truth_. "My ward." My heart rate spiked up, as it always did when the questions picked up in importance. Thankfully, I wasn't tied to a heart monitor. I always found those embarrassing.  
  
"Home."  
  
 _Lie_. "Bludhaven."  
  
"Meal."  
  
I smiled. "I'm Italian. Anything pasta, pizza, lasagna-"  
  
He interrupted me, a smidge of impatience in his monotone voice. Hah. "Animal."  
  
"I'm sorry, do you have something against Italian cuisine?" I leaned an elbow on the table, propping my head against my hand. I kept my voice calm, my face open. An underlying of curiosity and bemusement to complete the look.  
  
"No, Mr. Morgan. Animal."  
  
My smile widened. "Fox."  
  
It was the first time he wrote something down. Hmm.  
  
"Important."  
  
 _Truth, but not really_. "Work." I straightened from my cocky slant, leaning back against the uncomfortable chair. Body language told as much as words did in interviews, if not more.  
  
"Heroes."  
  
 _Hot_. "Admirable."  
  
"Enemy. "  
  
 _Too many to list_. "Paparazzi."  
  
"Secret."  
  
"Passcode."  
  
So the session went for a couple more minutes before Dr. Martens finally paused the recording and stood up. "Time for a twenty minute break, Mr. Morgan. Do you want a cup of coffee? A snack?"  
  
"Yes, I'm famished." Charming smile on, in the hopes he wouldn't spit in my coffee.  
  
He nodded. "I will be right back."  
  
As soon as the door closed behind him I crossed my arms and legs, hunching slightly. This room was damn cold. Hadn't they heard of central warming?

 **Timeline II**  
  
It was a two story building, big enough to hold a gym, a fitness room, conference rooms, a storage room and a garage. The second floor held the dormitories, the bathrooms and the kitchen. It was surrounded by a gravelly parking lot and trees, situated in the inner periphery of Atlantic City.  
  
Everything about it was built from a strategic perspective, even its dubious location. When my contractors had first heard of the plan to have the headquarters in this city, they'd accused me of using the project for my own gain. I'd asked them what they'd expected from a businessman and weren't they the ones who came to me for funding?  
  
Honestly, where did they expect I got the money from? I wasn't born into it like our dearest Waynes, Queens and Kords. I wasn't a blue-blooded snob, although I loved acting like one. I climbed my way up the ladder and still had a ways to go. That meant my place in the upper-crust of the world wasn't certain, and that meant setting shop in Atlantic City. Also known as the Las Vegas of the East Coast.  
  
"Nervous?" Helena asked. She was sat next to me in the backseat of the Mercedes Benz, leaning against the door, combat boots an inch easy from my thigh where she'd pulled them on the leather seat. I silently thanked God that they were new and not cacked with mud or something else from her frequent nightly… outings, or I could've kissed my precious cat bye bye.  
  
"Always," I said, "But I'm usually better at hiding it." The best, even. I didn't remember the last time I didn't wear a mask of some form or another, not even in the privacy of my own house.  
  
"What's got you all jittery? And for the last time stop rubbing your neck. That body paint is waterproof, the tattoos won't show."  
  
"Oh, I'm not nervous about me," I admitted.  
  
Her brows furrowed. Her eyebrows were strong game and always managed to convey more than she was willing to give. I took advantage of that, and if she thought ne a mindreader on top of a corny magician? All the better. This time they said, "What are you nervous about, then?"  
  
We were the only ones in the car. The chauffeur had stepped out for a smoke. No need to mince my words.  
  
"What's there not to be nervous about?" I began airily, "My young ward who's a complete _nutcase_ , by the way-  
  
"Hey!" She protested.  
  
"-is joyriding to fucking Gotham to whack some sacky old dude who unironically cosplays the Godfather. Her weapon of questionable choice is a crossbow-"  
  
"Oh, c'mon!"  
  
"-and did I mention the recent Arkham breakout? All the wacko shits are on their A-game, except for the Riddler, that is. Dumb bitch couldn't evade the fucking Bat for more than a day-"  
  
"Dante-"  
  
"Gotham, Helena. Got-ham. Shithole supreme of New Jersey, home of the dark and brooding, playground of the flashy fucks and the dramatic nerds. And that's coming from me, and I'm a godforsaken born and bred Bludhavener!"  
  
"ALRIGHT!" My mouth shut with a clack. She was scowling at her bent knees. "You've made your point. Though I wonder why you're bringing up your concerns now when you've stayed quiet all these years. _You're_ the one who paid for my teachers and my gear."  
  
"You were a very angry man-child, Helena. I wanted that budding sociopathy directed at everything except me."  
  
"I passed my psych eva last month. I'm not a sociopath. Or any path."

"You pour milk in the bowl before putting in the cornflakes, sweetheart. I beg to differ."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Anyways. I'm only going to take one man's life." Her dark eyes held a vacant look. I'd seen that happen often enough to know she's relieving the worst day of her life in her mind again. "Mandragora must die and I must be the one who kills him." She snapped out of the memory, her eyes locking onto mine. They were shining with determination. Or was it focused rage? Controlled bloodlust? I could never tell.  
  
"I won't go on a rampage, promise. I go in, kill the bastard and get out. I'll be back before you know it." The saddest thing about that was that she was trying to reassure me.  
  
"You get on the Bat's radar, and it's over for you, Helena." I leaned towards her to cup her cheek. Her shoulder-length hair tickled my wrist. "Let me kill him for you."  
  
This close, I could see the slight tremble in her hands, the red where she'd bitten her lips too hard, and the beginning of eyebags. She looked so young. Eighteen was not that much older from the ten year old I took under my wing.  
  
For a second, I thought she was going to accept. Hide the crossbow in her closet, grab her books and return to school instead. Live a normal life. Instead, she grabbed my hand and pulled it away from herself, roughly pushing it into my chest.  
  
I guess this is where hope gets you.  
  
"Tone down that southern drawl, Dante," she advised, "Remember, you're a bland rich, white man in America. Get rid of that sicilian spiciness. Forget that you're a southern belle." She pointed her finger at me. "Dante Morgan, CEO. Short term millionaire and aspiring tax-evader."  
  
I sighed. "I taught you so well. Too well."  
  
"So, are you getting out of the damn car or not?"  
  
I didn't reply, it seemed like a rhetorical question. I got out of the car without saying goodbye.  
  
Helena hated goodbyes.  
  
Gravel crunched under my oiled brogues. I called back the chauffeur. Today I'd chosen to wear a uniform grey business suit, dark cravat, gold watch. I'd hidden my visible tattoos with the bodypaint Helena had recommended me, dyed my hair its trademark sandy brown, unpierced my ears, and dosed myself with cedarwood cologne. Helena had given me smack for the last one.  
  
The final touch was the dagger I'd strapped to the side of my upper leg. I made sure I could easily pull it out of its sheath. The sheath had runic invisibility charm sewn on the inside which rendered it unable to be detected by non-magical eyes except for when I engaged in combat. Pretty handy for impromptu fights over poker tables or back-alley deals.  
  
My hands itched, started drifting towards my chest pockets on their own. No, no smoking today. Cologne had to be the only thing they could smell on me. I forced them down.  
  
 _Knock. Knock_.  
  
I looked down at the car. Helena's silhouette could barely be detected behind the dark-tinted window. I smiled, genuine, and knocked gently on the window.  
  
 _Knock. Knock_.  
  
I stood still as I watched the car back out of the driveway and ride away. I didn't move towards the door of the building until the mercedes disappeared at the round.I liked to think that she was looking back.  
  
Hand scan. Retina scan. The door opened with a soft hiss. I felt like a very important character in a Bond movie. Definitely worth the obnoxious amount of money I invested into the security measures.  
  
The hallway behind it was at a reasonable temperature, a nice change from the glaring sun but icy cold winds of spring outside. I waited, reflexively letting my dice appear in the palm of my hand. I twirled it between my fingers.  
  
I traced the hold scribblings with the nail of my thumb, enjoying the way the blue shimmered ever so slightly under the artificial lights.  
  
Would I even need it today?  
  
 _Click. Click. Click._ The sound of heels approaching me.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. Morgan."  
  
I sighed, rolling the dice between my fingers. I cocked my head towards the fidgeting woman, dressed for office. She looked somewhere between terrified and professional. My reputation preceded me. It was built on lies and half-truths but you'd be surprised at how making yourself appear monstrous meant you had to be less of a monster yourself. Very convenient.  
  
"My name is Vesper Fairchild," she said. "I'm the head manager of the Headquarters."  
  
I knew who she was. I was the one who'd chosen her for the job. But she didn't know that—CEO's didn't usually bother with the recruiting process, after all—and I liked to keep it that way.  
  
"I trust our visitors have been well accommodated," I said. It wasn't a question.  
  
She nodded. Her cornrows, long and dyed red, were pulled into a professional ponytail. "They're in the conference room. Everything is arranged as per your instructions." She handed me a small remote.  
  
I put it in my pants pocket. "The room?"  
  
"This way." She led me past a number of doors. I also knew the place like the back of my hand. I played a big part in the design of the building. And again, the less I appeared anything but the impersonal, rich businessman, the less I got bothered.  
  
We cut a corner and she pointed. "There. Second door on the left."  
  
"I'll find my way from here. You can return to your office." She nodded and left the way we came. Professionalism. I liked that in my employees.  
  
Approaching the door that was half ajar, my vain side surfaced and I made sure that my semi-long hair was in its place. Side-part good, the short side slightly slicked back, no threat of strands falling on my forehead.  
  
I took two steps and stopped. Old nerves, buried through poorly handled therapy sessions and too much unconscripted medicine, sped underneath my skin. The dice disappeared from my hand with a thought. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but this close to the door I couldn't help but hear them talking inside.  
  
"...waiting?"  
  
"Not that long-"  
  
"...from all over the world. I wonder…"  
  
"-is this place?"  
  
"What I wanna know is why we're all here!"  
  
That was my cue. I pushed the door open and stepped in the conference room. "Because I called you here."  
  
All eyes immediately zeroed in on me, my heart rate spiking despite me being used to the attention of crowds. Something about being stared at by costumed people who could break me like a toothpick should they so wish…  
  
Mask on. _Stay classy, Dante._  
  
I cast my gaze over them. Lantern Guy Gardner, Blue Beetle, Fire and Ice, Miracle Man, Black Canary, Rocket Red, and Vixen. Most of them were sat around the oval table in the middle of the room while Rocket and Canary chose to remain standing.  
  
I'd mostly only seen them in photos, from afar every once in a while, but now they're right here, right in front of me. They're not League, but they're heroes I grew up reading about. They're heroes, period, and the experience was bolstering.  
  
"Good. You're all here," I said with a faint, relieved smile.  
  
Lantern Gardner pointed at me with, looking at Icemaiden who sat closest to him. "Who's this peacock?"  
  
I didn't wait for someone else to speak up. "Your next paycheck," I said, walking further into the room, mindful not to cross my arms over my chest, although the gesture would've made me feel safer. "Should you agree to the offer I'm about to propose to you."  
  
"That's where I know you from!" Exclaimed Blue Beetle. "You're Dante Morgan, from Haven Industries."  
  
I nodded with a bashful grin. "The one and only."  
  
"That tells me nothing, Blue Beetle." Ice shook her head. "Sorry," she quickly added, shooting me an apologetic look, "I di-"  
  
I waved her apology away. "Understandable, Ice Maiden. I don't expect everyone I meet to know of me."  
  
"He's to Bludhaven what Bruce Wayne is to Gotham," Beetle said by way of explanation. I hoped he was being hyperbolic. If my status had reached Bruce Wayne levels of fame without my knowhow, I could expect a few kidnappings and ransoms in the near future. Then again, who says someone hadn't tried to yet? I did hire the best of the best to guard my ass and I doubt they'd bother alerting me of small fry like the Bludhaven organized crime families.  
  
Fire, next to Icemaiden, raised a green eyebrow. "A hot, rich playboy?"  
  
"More like a very busy philanthropist who got saddled with you costumed lot," I answered brightly, heading towards the big screen on the opposite wall, which was coincidentally behind Lantern Gardner.  
  
I passed by Rocket Red and gave him a nod and smile. "Hello, sir," I greeted him in russian.  
  
I couldn't see his face behind the robot bulk but he gave a sharp nod. I wondered if I'd surprised him.  
  
"So, you're the one who called us here," Vixen eyed me from head to toe.  
  
I pulled the remote from my pocket and pressed ON, opening the powerpoint presentation I spent unreasonable hours in my limited free time on making. Thankfully, Fairchild had set everything up for me, so all I had to do was push one button for the screen to blink awake, showcasing the bombastic logo I'd commissioned three weeks ago.  
  
I turned towards my public. "Congratulations, you all are the founding members of the newly UN-sanctioned Justice League International."


End file.
